The Warner sun. (Warner, Brown Co., Dakota [S.D.]) 1885-1???, 1887-07-29
retzers and mugL needs aarn Ihem.

a solitary light is alone visible In the
distance half kertse away. It is
doubtless the lamp of the dying, or,
perchance, dead man, and yonder must
be the cracknel- makers house. There
can be no mistake, the old hag pointed
it out. And so saying, with the noise
of the storm in his ears, DR..
Trifuldas hurries on toward the
house, which, standing alone in the
midst of vide heath, is more distinct
ly perceptlble as the wayfarer ap
! proaches.
1t is a singular and noteworthy fact
! to observe how mnch the house Of the
cracknel-maker looks like the doctors
Si1-Four, at Luktrop; there is the same
arrangement in the front windows, and
| the little vaulted door at the side,
| Doctor Trifulgas strides on as fast as
the driving gusts of wind and rain will
permit. He reaches the door, which is
aiar, pushes it open, enters, and the
blast closes it behind him with a bang.
The dog outside howls or is silent, by
turns, like choristers chanting the vers-
es of Forty Hours psalm.
How very strange! One might al
most be led to suppose that Doctor
TrifuIgas had come back to his own
house. But this can not be. He took
no wrong turning on the road, nor
dld he lose his way. No, he is GER
| tainlv at Val KRrniou, and, not at
Luktrop. Yet how comes it his eye
! dwells on the same, low, vaulted cor
ridor, the same winding staircase, and
the same massive wooden railing,
hand-worn like his own? He ascends,
and stops on the landing. A faint
| light comes from undar the door, as at
the Six-Four.
Is it snare or a delusionf By the
weak glimmer of the lamp, he vaguely
recognizes his own room-there the yell
low sofa; there, on the right, the old
oaken chest; and there, ON the left, the
iron girt safe, in which he had thought
! of placing his one hundred and twenty
fretzers. Yonder is his armchair with
its leather tassels, his table with its
convoluted legs, and upon il, by the
Pickering lamp, his own Codex, open at
page 1877.
What ails me? murmurs the doctor.
What ails thee? Why thou art palsied
with fright. Thy eyeballs start from
their sockets. The body contracts and
dwindles in size. An icy sweat chills
thy skin, on which nameless horrors
seem to creep,
Quick, or the lamp, for want of oil,
will go out, and the sick man die. Ay,
the bed is there-his own, with it's pill
lows and baldaqu1n-a bed as long as It
is broad, and the closed curtains with
their large inwrought flowers Can this
indeed be the bed of a poor cracknel-
maker? Trembling, the doctor draws
near, pulls the curtains aside, and peers
within.
There, outstretched on his dying bed,
lies the sick man, with his head outside
the counterpane and motionIess, like
one about to breathe his last. The doc
tor bends forward
All! what CHASTITY scream is that
which rends the air, and is taken up by
the dog outside with his sinister howl
ing? 1t is not Wort Kartiff, the ~~ack-
nel-msker, who is the dying man, but
he, the doctor, Doctor Trifulgas him
self!--he who is smitten down with
brain fever-he and no other. Full
well he knows the symptoms. 1t is
cerebral apoplexy, with sudden accu.
mutation of serosity in the cavities Of
the brain, and partial paralysis of the
body on the side opposite that where
the lesion exists. Ay, it was for him
that assistance was besought, that one
hundred and twenty fretzers were paid
He who, in the hardness of his heart,
had refused to attend the poor crack
K :; 10 $; s:ss.s i; i;
Doctor Trifulgas rayed like maniac,
The symptoms increased every minute
Not only were all the functions of relation
dead in him, but the beatings Of his heart
were nearly gone, like the breath Of his
lungs. Yet he had not lost all concious-
ness of his desperate strait.
What shall he do? Diminish the mass
of the blood by bleeding2 There must
be no hesitation, or Doctor Trifulgas is
dead man. Phlebotomy was still
practiced in Volsinia, and there, as here,
the doctors rescued from apoplexy all
those who were not TO die from its
effects
Doctor Trifulgas sized his case oi
instruments, took his lancet, and
punctured the vein on his duplicate self.
No blood, however, spurted, from the
wounds He rubbed with all his might
the chest Of the dying one, but he found
that the pulsations of his own heart dim
inished; he burnt the others feet with
hot bricks, but felt his own feet growing
cold.
Suddenly his duplicate starts up in
his bed, struggles wildly In the last
Sthroes Of suspended breathing, rattle
is heard in his throat, and Doctor Trif-
ulgas, with all his science, falls back
dead in his own arms.
The following morning corpse was